Only worth what I can give, never allowed to be seen,
I tend their wounds and clean their rooms, but no one's concerned about me.
Money to borrow, chores to be done, tears to be wiped, words to be sung.
And I like to do it, but I'm all worn out
I can't keep on giving when I'm left out.
But I'm talked over, my words not worth your ears,
And my hands are unseen, unless alleviating others fears.
I've asked for help, and patience, and time, but I'm told that's life and I should step back in line.